Pen Pals
by Blood Dark Sun
Summary: AU. Through an international pen pal exchange, university student Arthur meets a new friend named Lovino. Rated for language.


_I wrote this back in December, but could never decide whether to publish it or not. Since I'm having some "Rowan Tree" writer's block, I'll put it up. Hope you like it. It's a bit long but there's no obvious place for a chapter break. _

…

**Pen Pals.**

Arthur had frankly forgotten about signing up for the international pen pal exchange several months ago, which is why, when a handwritten letter addressed to him appeared on the dinner table, he had no idea what it might be. He ignored his parents' curious gaze as he opened it.

The blond ate his Marmite toast absently as he read through the brief letter. The English was surprisingly good.

_Dear Arthur,_

_I received your name from a list of possible pen friends at our school. In order to obtain a passing grade in English this year I must show copies of three letters that I sent to you and your answer letters. I hope that this is "all right."_

_So I suppose I should talk about myself a little bit. My name is Lovino Vargas. I am seventeen and in my final year of school. I have been studying English for four years and I think it is very good._

_Please write back and tell me about yourself. _

_Yours truly,_

_Lovino _

_PS – Even if you know Italian, please write in English so that I may practice._

Bloody terse letter. But if the git was just a student – hell, he couldn't even tell if this was a boy or a girl! Though he'd guess it was a boy; Romance language names tended to end in "a" for girls. At any rate, if this bloke was still a student, perhaps he didn't feel confident writing much more in English.

Too bad the response had to be in English. Arthur _was_ studying Italian and he would have liked to practice that, too. That's why he'd signed up for the blasted exchange in the first place. But of course they only needed to exchange three letters. He wouldn't get much practice out of that.

After finishing the homework that was due the next day, he took out a nice pen to write his response. He needed to practice his handwriting, too, and had purchased himself a very pricey fountain pen to inspire him.

_Dear Lovino,_

_Thank you for your letter. Your English is rather good, it's true. I have been studying Italian for two years but since you require your letters in English, I am happy to oblige._

_I am nineteen and attending university, although I still live at home. In my spare time (of which there is precious little!) I am a docent at the British Museum. I love art and although I am not skilled at painting or drawing I do like to look at beautiful works by others._

_What sort of a name is Lovino? I have not heard of it before._

_Please write back. I would like to know more about the Italian culture and schooling, or what you like to do in your spare time._

_Regards,_

_Arthur _

He looked at the letter. It was somewhat blotchy; he didn't write that much longhand anymore, and his hand wasn't used to it. He hoped his oblique question about the name would help him figure out whether it was a boy or not. Then Arthur decided to add a postscript in both English and Italian.

_Mi dispiace mia grafia è così male_._ Se possiamo scrivere un po ' in italiano che mi aiuterà, troppo.  
(Sorry that my handwriting is so bad. If it is possible to write in Italian, that would help me too.)_

He sealed the letter and addressed it, and walked to the post box to post it.

…

_Dear Arthur,_

_Your Italian was quite well! I am pleased to see it. Thank you for writing back so promptly. I had just completed an examination in English this afternoon and was therefore prepared to read your letter although your handwriting is __sloppy__. I did figure it out eventually._

_Lovino is a Roman name. My grandfather picked it out. He had this privilege because I am the oldest grandson. I do not like it much and prefer my friends to call me Romano, which means "a man of Rome." You may continue to address me as Lovino, however. It is more formal that way and since I must present these letters to the teacher it is more suitable._

_I too appreciate art. I sketch and paint a little but am always improving. Here is a sketch of me in front of my house. I am not good with faces yet so I drew the back view._

Arthur snorted. "You may continue to address me as Lovino." What a little snot. Then he smoothed out the small sketch. Improving? Bloody hell. This was a really nice sketch! It showed a boy – well, at seventeen he supposed this Lovino must be a young man, really – facing a nice villa. Even though the sketch was in black ink, he could tell the sun was up and it was autumn. This was very good. Perhaps he'd try sketching something. He now felt a bit embarrassed that someone younger than he could do much better work.

_What sort of work do you do as a docent? (I had to research that word!) _

_Please write soon,_

_Lovino_

A second sheet of paper held a postscript.

_You could send two letters? One in English for the teacher to see, and Italian to practice? I don't mind. And then I would write to you two letters, so you could translate the Italian. Please let me know._

_L._

That was a very good idea, although Arthur knew it would mean more work. He reached for his pen and dashed off the English letter first. It was getting a little easier to write in longhand again.

_Dear Lovino,_

_It is fun to come home from a dreary day and find a letter waiting. It makes a nice change from the daily routine. Thanks for responding so fast. Your sketch is very evocative. I am not ready to share my feeble sketches with you, but I am going to practice some more so that I can send you something I'm not ashamed of._

_As a junior docent my duties are rather lame. Most of the time I am stuck working the coat check, or cleaning up trash that visitors have left lying around, or collecting items for the Lost & Found. When I am very lucky, I get to do a guided tour of a small part of the museum, but since I am the youngest one there, I rarely get that chance. But at least doing the shit work means I can still look at the artworks._

He debated crossing out "shit work" and putting in something more elegant, but decided that if Lovino truly wanted to learn English he'd need to learn the vernacular as well, so he left it. He hoped the teacher wouldn't be upset with it! But perhaps the teacher didn't actually read the letters, just verified that Lovino had done the work and received a response.

_Soon I have winter exams, which means a great deal of revision. I'm not looking forward to it! I hope that you can continue to write. I already feel that my mind is expanding beyond the borders of Britain, by corresponding with you._

_Regards,_

_Arthur_

He folded that letter and then took a fresh piece of paper for his attempt at an Italian letter. First he would write it all out in English, and then translate it. He didn't bother with a greeting, since this wasn't going to go to Lovino's teacher.

_Today I actually had a bit of a bad day. I got my exam results for chemistry and they were not as good as I'd hoped. I don't even know why I chose to study it. Do you know what you want to do with your life? I don't. Sometimes I think I should be a teacher, because I love doing the tours at the museum, but most of the time the visitors are a bunch of narrow-minded gits who are only there because their schools have brought them. It can be disheartening._

_This is all the Italian I feel up to writing tonight, but I don't want to delay your letter, so I will end it here. Stay well. Arthur._

When he translated it he dithered quite a bit about the word "gits." He didn't know of an Italian word that would convey this as well. He just left it, and underlined it so Lovino would know it was an English word and not some badly-chosen (or badly-spelled) Italian one. In a hurry, he posted the letter and returned to his homework.

…

_Dear Arthur,_

_I was surprised to see you wrote two different letters. I thought you would just put the English letter into Italian. It was good to see! I could not find anything to correct in your Italian letter. I hope that my English is as good. In this style I will send you two different letters also._

_I also have winter exams approaching, but they will not be hard. I chose easy subjects. Our family is preparing for the Christmas season. We always get together in a big group and go to a resort somewhere. Sometimes I hate being around all those _(something was heavily crossed out here) _people, but it is how we do things. This year I am hoping to get a new motorcycle for my gift. What about you? What is the custom of your family?_

_Tomorrow is the exam for English. Send me good luck!_

_L._

Hah. He hoped to get a new motorcycle? Arthur merely hoped for a top-up to his Oyster card! He pulled out the Italian letter and translated it as he read.

_You have made me somewhat ashamed. When I'm dragged to a school function I behave just like those "gits" you talked about. (Strange word!) It doesn't help that everyone at my school is a total bastard. I just stand by myself in the corner and tune out the tour guides. But from now on I'll pay attention because they might be just as frustrated as you._

_I don't know what to do with my fucking life, either. In school I've not specialized in anything, and I don't know what I want to specialize in! Sometimes I think they make kids decide too early. I'm thinking of getting a job somewhere when I'm done with school, just to buy some time and figure out what the hell I want to do. But then my grandfather says this may lead to me slacking off for the whole rest of my life, and never choosing to better myself. As if I give a fuck._

_I know this letter is a lot cruder than my English ones, but this is how I talk and write in Italian. I thought you might want to see the 'real me.' If it sounds too coarse for you, well, okay, I could try to tone it down, but I really don't want to. It's a real relief to write to someone who doesn't even know me. I can vent better this way._

Arthur certainly understood that. And yes, it was cruder than Lovino's English letters, but he was pleased that the Italian felt able to express himself this way. The blond immediately reached for his pen and wrote his Italian letter first.

_Write how you want to write. I'm no prissy Head Boy, so I don't care. In fact I know exactly what you mean, because I have quite a temper but am forced to hold it in all the time so I don't anger my teachers or the wankers at work. I don't want to lose the job (even though it's only volunteer work) so I keep a lid on it. Sometimes during a break I have to go hide in the men's room for a while to calm down, though, or go outside for a walk to clear my head._

He wondered whether that was sharing too much of himself. But Lovino was right. It was liberating to write to someone who didn't know him well.

_I tried to draw a sketch of myself for you. It looks too cartoony but at least it shows my blond hair and my ugly dark eyebrows. Everyone says they look like big caterpillars._

He scowled and shoved the Italian letter and the tiny sketch into the envelope before answering the English letter.

_Dear Lovino,_

_Once again your letter has come at an opportune time! I just took my Italian exam and think that I did a little better than usual._

_At Christmastime things are not that much different from the rest of the year. I live with my mother and father. We decorate the house and sometimes go out to public holiday functions like a panto or Christmas movies, but we don't go anywhere special to celebrate. My brothers have all moved away and they don't seem interested in coming back very often._

He decided not to mention his gift hopes. Didn't want to come across as a poor bloke.

_The museum is getting a new exhibit of Renaissance artworks. I am certain I will think of Italy when I finally get to see them, although they won't be installed until the spring._

_Take care,_

_Arthur_

…

_Dear Arthur,_

_This is now our fourth letter exchange; I only needed to turn in six letters (three exchanged). If you don't want to write anymore I completely understand. Just let me know._

Well, what the bloody hell did that mean? He was tired of writing? It wasn't even signed!

Arthur was so upset about this that he left it for a whole day without responding, and had a miserable next day as a result. But it wasn't because of Lovino's letter, or lack of it. It was just that everything seemed to be going so bloody wrong! He lost his backpack, and then when he found it, he was late for work, so he ended up cleaning up the galleries instead of something more fun. He missed the last train home and had to take a bus and then walk in the rain, and he had on dress shoes for work and not something comfortable to walk in, and no blasted umbrella. Oh, he was right irritated when he got home, and punched the wall, hurting his hand, as he threw the soggy backpack on the couch with a scowl.

"Letter for you," his mother said in a cheerful tone.

Letter? Maybe it was some school thing. He went to the kitchen to fetch it, shaking the water out of his hair like a dog.

Another letter from Lovino! He realized his heart was only thumping because he was afraid of what the Italian would say in the letter. "Stop writing," maybe? He wouldn't be surprised. Arthur took the letter and ran upstairs to his room so he wouldn't act like an idiot in front of his parents when he read the hurtful words that had to be inside.

After he'd changed out of his wet gear, eying it nervously the entire time, he lay on the bed to read it. It was in Italian.

_Arthur,_

_I'm sorry I forgot to put an Italian letter into the envelope yesterday. I would like to keep writing but not to turn the letters in to my teacher. Is that all right with you?_

The Brit read that part five or six times before allowing himself to relax, believe it, and read further.

_I really hope you're not angry. I was so pissed off because my idiot little brother was interrupting me and pestering me to do shit with him and I was trying to think in English and write. And then part of my mind was trying to think of what to say in the Italian letter. So I really am sorry and I hope you'll keep writing._

_I hope you have a happy Christmas._

_Your friend,_

_Lovino_

Arthur lay on the bed, drawing deep breaths, rereading the letter, before he began to compose a response.

_No, I am not angry. I was disappointed –_he almost crossed this out but decided to let it stand_ – but since you wrote afterwards then there is nothing to be disappointed about._

_Tomorrow is Christmas day. It's supposed to snow. I hope that it does; we don't get enough snow here. Do you get snow in Italy? I'm guessing not. It's very pretty. Someday I would like to live in a place that gets a lot of snow in the winter, just to see what it's like._

_Yes, I would like to keep writing. I admit I'm a little nervous about sharing my thoughts with a stranger, but when I think about sharing them with the people I know here, it's even more bloody terrifying. I don't mind whether you want to write in English or Italian. Either way I suppose one of us will get something good out of it, yeah?_

_I know you'll get this letter after Christmas, so I hope it was a good one and that you get your motorcycle. I will picture you zooming around Rome and terrorizing the pedestrians!_

_My hand always hurts when I write a lot with a pen, which is why my letters are never very long, and it's hurting now because of some shite that happened today. I'll sign off now but look forward to your next letter. Do you want me to start calling you Romano, since you're not going to turn my letters in for credit?_

Yes, that sounded stupid, but if Lovino really hated his name, he might feel more comfortable this way.

…

_Hey, biondo bastardo,_

_I know it's been a while since I wrote. Hope you're all right. I had some problems after the holidays when I got my exam grades and they weren't so good. Nonno (my grandfather) lectured my ear off and set me to doing extra homework and chores. Unfortunately I got a really good grade in English, so I couldn't write to you and pretend I was doing English homework. Sorry._

_Well, I didn't get my motorcycle. Bastards. But I did get tickets to the opera, which was an interesting experience. Have you ever gone? I saw 'Carmen,' which takes place in a Spanish setting. I spent a lot of my youth in Spain so I know a lot about the culture. Have you always lived in Britain? What's the best place you ever visited?_

_Is your hand better? I know what you mean about writing with a pen. All my homework (except the fucking English letters) has to be done on the computer. Would you rather email? I hope that's not too stalkerish, but I've been thinking about it and can't really see that it is. It's not like we don't know each other's home addresses already, dammit._

_If you want to, my home email is ... I have a school email address but don't want to get it there. I don't know if the bastards can read personal emails but I don't want to risk it. But yes: please call me Romano! Thanks a lot!_

_R._

Arthur smiled at this and went straight to the computer.

_Hi, yourself, ROMANO. _He snickered at that before continuing. _I'm all right, I guess. Work is the same, home life ditto. I got to give a little tour in the first week of the new year. It was a group of American students and they were all just giggling and flirting and acting like a bunch of idiots. The manager always gives me the worst tours! But if I can tune them out it's all right. I just say the important things about the beautiful works and hope that some of it falls into willing ears. Hell, if I had to listen, maybe I'd be goofing off too, just because maybe it's not cool to pay attention to the tour guide. But I like to hope that I'd listen a little bit._

_I hope this email doesn't overpower you. I can type much faster than I can write. Oh. I'll do some in Italian, too, at the end._

_Best place I've been…hm. I'd have to say Austria. I went to Vienna and Salzburg once on a school trip (when I was your age) and they were beautiful, really striking places. I'd like to get back there someday. Very historical and elegant. How about you? I guess Spain, yeah? Never really wanted to visit there, myself._

_This week I had the first early exams of the new semester. My new teachers are gits, as usual. I refuse to try to be a bloody teacher's pet, but then they just ignore me. Luckily I'm doing better in chemistry and the professor can't ding me for much. But I only have to get through this semester and then I've got the summer off. I might get a real paying job for the summer and take time off from the museum, so I have some pocket change for school next year._

_Your idea about working for a little while after graduating is really smart. I wish I would have thought of that before entering university. I've always felt like I'm wasting time and money being here and not having a real goal. I went to a careers lecture once where the chap said "Do what you love." But what the hell! There's no money in working at the museum. Even a paying job there is just barely enough to live on, in London._

_Hah. I should find a museum, in a snowy place, that pays more, and give tours in English to the foreigners that go there._

_Anyway, I do have stuff to do now but I think you were brilliant to suggest emails. Have a good night (or whenever you read this) and write back soon._

He reread this and then put in a little Italian postscript, apologizing for not writing much in Italian.

…

_Wow, Arthur. You're a really blabby bastard on email. But that's okay. It's a lot more like talking to someone than those stupid formal letters we had to write. I hope I can come up with something interesting to tell you, too._

_Teacher's pet. Right. Do you have __any idea__ how hard it would be for me to try to be a goddamn teacher's pet? No fucking way. Besides, all the teachers here hate me, because my little brother really IS a teacher's pet, and they look at me scowling in the corner and don't even bother. Half the time I think I get passing grades just because they want to get me out of their classrooms and shunt me off to someone else. Don't do it, bastard. Don't prostitute yourself just to be a teacher's pet. You'd hate yourself._

_Why don't you quit university and work for a while, and think about life? At least then you wouldn't be wasting money and then you also wouldn't have to worry about studying and all that. _

_Anyway, have to run; Nonno is making me do that extra studying until the end of the year, dammit. Write soon._

…

Arthur thought about what it would be like to quit university and get a job somewhere. Eventually he concluded that this would be a waste of time, and tried to explain this to his friend.

_No, you don't understand the university system at all. If I quit now I'd lose all the work I've put into it so far, and all the money. It would be harder to quit and start again later, than to keep plowing through it now and finish._

_Though I do have to admit it's going to be bloody annoying to finish four years and not be qualified for anything. Sometimes I think it'd be fun – yes, fun – doing some kind of manual labor, working in construction, or landscaping or something. But what if I did something wrong, and a house collapsed or something? That's a terrifying thought and I'm not really strong enough for that kind of work anyway. But I bet I would get strong fairly quickly._

_Maybe I should invent something to make a million pounds and retire young. Hah._

…

_Bastard, I have the feeling that if you could invent something and make a million pounds, you'd be actually doing it, instead of sitting around bitching to me through emails. _

_But to be fair, I spent the entire afternoon on Saturday trying to come up with something to invent, and I couldn't. So, maybe there are just no ideas out there._

_Nonno has promised me the motorcycle if I get all A's during this last quarter of the year. I'm easily on track in most things, especially English (thanks). It's not so bad. I can manipulate him once in a while._

…

_Why do you have to manipulate him? I can't tell if you're bloody rich, so he can just fling a motorcycle at you as a prize, or just 'well-off,' so that a motorcycle is within reach but not easy to get. Why would you want one, anyway? They're loud and they seem really awkward to maneuver._

_I just realized I never answered your question about the opera. No, I haven't ever been to one. But because I thought of this today, I bought myself a ticket to 'The Magic Flute' next weekend. Maybe this is a rubbish opera, I don't know, and don't disparage me if you think it is. It was the only one in town that I could still get a ticket to. Just don't say anything yet, let me go, and then we can talk about it when I've seen it? I feel like an idiot going to the opera by myself but I'm not about to invite any of the wankers I know. I'd rather just go by myself so I can talk to you about it afterwards._

_They've been letting me do more tours at work. The new Renaissance exhibit is up and I did walk through it and think about you, since these are from your homeland. It's no wonder you're such a good artist. But now that we're not exchanging paper letters we haven't been able to exchange sketches. I have this new tablet (courtesy of the literature department at school) which has a touch screen, but I've tried drawing on it and I'm total rubbish._

_Anyway, I'll write after I see the opera. Have a good week._

…

_The Magic Flute isn't a 'rubbish opera,' bastard. (I can't help feeling that my English is going to start sounding more British than yours, if we keep emailing!) It's not one of the great classical operas, but it's all right. Did you like it? I made myself not write until after I knew you'd been to see it. Proud of me? Should be._

_You seriously can't guess why I want a motorcycle? I can ride it __alone__. No fucking 'Take your brother to school' or any shit like that. (I mean, yes, they could tell me that, but they wouldn't want to risk him.) I can just ride, alone, and think, and go where I want, and not worry about stupid mass transit or whatever. That's all. I'm tired of either being chauffeured around (metaphorically) by Nonno, or by having to be the chauffeur for stupid Feli (my brother – don't remember if I ever told you his name). I sort of feel like it's a step to independence. I'd have to take care of it myself, and pay the registration and whatever, so it would be some added responsibility._

_When I first asked for it, that wasn't why I asked. I just tried to think of some expensive shit that I could ask for, for Christmas. But when it looked like the bastard might actually buy the fucking thing for me, I started to imagine what it would really be like. And I think I'd like it a lot. Do you have a car?_

…

Arthur sighed.

_No, I don't have a car. I take 'stupid mass transit' everywhere, unless I walk to save money. You've no doubt heard of the rainy London weather? I have an extensive collection of umbrellas._

He laughed at that before typing further. He did have several. He often forgot them and ended up buying new ones on the next rainy day. Idly he counted them on his fingers before continuing the letter. Seven? Eight? Bloody hell, he couldn't even remember. He laughed again and went back to his email. _Add to my future list: a place where it doesn't rain so much._

He stopped again and tried to think of a place that met all the criteria, but couldn't think of anything. _Not much else to say. Spring midterms coming up. You?_

…

_Bastard, I have tests _all the time._ Yes, I have new midterms coming up. But all this extra studying has paid off; I bet I get straight A's this term. What about you? Doing any better?_

_Hey! Soon I'll be – ah, forget it. I'll write more later._

_R._

Arthur was curious about what had cut his friend's email off so abruptly. He paced around for a little while and then wrote back immediately, just in case there was a problem. _Are you all right? Is there a problem? Write back when you get this. _

Within minutes a reply came back. _I hope you're not parked at the computer just waiting for me to email. But if you are, that's cool. I'd rather talk to you than anybody around here. Yes, everything's fine. Got sidetracked by some school shit, that's all. Tonight my cousins are coming over for dinner. Fuck. I'll have to sit there at the table and act sociable for at least an hour, dammit. Maybe I'll take my phone and screw around with it so I don't have to pay attention. Send me something to cheer me up afterwards?_

Arthur thought about this. He wondered whether Romano could get emails on his phone, and wrote right back to ask.

_Yeah, I can! But I wouldn't be able to answer you, you know. Just read them under the table or something._

Arthur grinned. _I'll try to keep you amused,_ _as long as you write me a long email afterwards and tell me how it went._

He got an email back in five minutes. _Bastard, you've got yourself a deal._

…

Two hours later Arthur was camped in front of the computer with a pot of tea, some ginger nuts, and his Italian dictionary. He started off with a little poem in English:

_If dinner you eat  
With cousins so sweet  
Remember to pass  
On the gravy and meat._

Well, yes, it was dumb, but it was something. He sent it, laughing a little, and thought about the next thing.

_Once there was a little boy named Romano, who got in trouble for reading his emails at the table. His Nonno punished him by taking away his motorcycle. In the middle of the night the little boy escaped from his bedroom and took the motorcycle out for a midnight run. He traveled to every nation in the world in his pajamas, and got home before dawn. His Nonno was very confused to find a smiling Romano and an empty gas tank in the morning._

Hmm. What else could he write?

_Like an angry little flower  
Romano sits at the table, hour after hour._

Well, that was bloody stupid, but it was too late to call it back. Arthur drank some cooling tea. This would be more fun if he could actually think of something clever. He'd never realized before just how difficult it was to be funny on command. He hoped Romano wouldn't get in trouble for all this. His grandfather sounded pretty tough. So he took a break for a little while and tried to think of something very clever, that was still short enough to go in a text message.

Argh. He felt so stupid. Well, he'd do one more and then wait for Romano to get back to him, and he'd apologize.

_I gave a tour today. Ten children and two mothers. The children were better behaved than the mothers! Sometimes I really hate this job. I hate school. I just want to run away._

Hah, well, that was true, but pointless. He went to read in bed for a while.

Later he heard the ping of an incoming email and walked over to sit down at the desk. _Bastard, why did you stop? You were keeping me cheerful but then you stopped and I had to pay attention and I got all pissed off and yelled at Nonno. I didn't even get to have dessert! Are you all right?_

Bloody hell, now he'd be mad. _Yes, I'm fine, wanker. I was afraid to write too much and get you in trouble for goofing off at the table, and I could only think of stupid shite to write to you. I'm sorry._

Romano responded quickly. _Ah, it's not so bad. I can live without the fucking dessert. Thanks for the little bit you did. I liked the story about me riding my motorcycle all over the world. Sometimes I want to run away too._

Arthur, reading this, tried to imagine the two of them running away, riding Romano's motorcycle all over the world, not doing anything except having fun and relaxing. This absurd fantasy came crashing to a halt when the reality of money came into his mind. Plus he wasn't sure they could actually spend time together comfortably. He'd probably freeze up and then his temper would explode at something Romano said, and then his friend would get pissed off, and it would just be bad. He'd often dallied with the idea of trying to arrange a meeting, but this thought always stopped him. He'd rather go on never meeting him, than to meet him and wreck their friendship with his bloody temper.

Oh. Romano was probably waiting for an answer. _Nice pipe dream, anyway. I should go_. _I have homework to do._

Though he didn't. He was just getting uncomfortable about the discussion. But – _Right. Me too. Good night, bastard._

…

They exchanged a few weak emails over the following week. Arthur didn't realize, at first, how distant Romano was being, because he was focusing on his own need to draw back.

Plus he was quite busy with end-of-year exams, and also work. One of the other docents had gotten the flu, so Arthur got to take more tours. He felt that he was able to polish his public speaking style, and therefore improve, although he still scowled quite a bit at those gits who didn't pay attention to the tour.

Monday morning he awoke rather crabby; he hadn't gotten any email from Romano in three days. Well, it was the end of the school year everywhere, and his friend was probably madly cramming too. He went to school, took his chemistry exam (and felt very good about it), and headed off to the museum. He'd email tonight, after dinner.

Arthur's run of good luck hadn't ended! Er – well – the same docent still had the flu, so he would get to give a tour. He felt bad about triumphing at his coworker's illness, but he took the opportunity anyway.

Today's tour was a group of Italian students. Arthur smiled to himself. This would definitely be one to tell Romano about. His friend was always crowing about how well-behaved Italian people were, compared to the rest of the world. Well, he would just see about that. From a corner of the room, before he started the tour, he let his eyes scan the group. They were polite and quiet, eying the artworks in the lobby, waiting for their tour guide. Seemed like maybe Romano was right about that?

Ah. In the back of the group was a dark young man who was fiercely scowling at the floor. This boy looked just the way Arthur imagined Romano must look: slim, terribly handsome, and irritable. Hah. He made a decision. Since he already planned to email his friend about this particular tour, he'd treat that irritable student as if he were Romano himself. Arthur would give the best tour he ever had given, pouring his knowledge into the dark boy's ear, as it were, and pretend he was impressing his friend.

He stepped forward and introduced himself to the teacher, who called the students' wandering attention to them both. Arthur greeted them all pleasantly, introducing himself to the whole group, and began the tour.

At first he was very, very nervous. These students didn't chatter, just shuffled slowly along, eyes wide as they entered each gallery. It was a bit unnerving. He glanced at the dark boy from time to time. Once, their eyes met, and the Italian turned his entire body away, but not before Arthur saw a blush rising. What was wrong with the git?

But as the tour progressed, he forgot all this nervousness and slipped into his zone, speaking of the artworks, answering the occasional question. Even when he caught the brunet student's eye again, he didn't feel discomfited. He smiled shyly and continued speaking, getting the ghost of a smile in return, before shifting his gaze to allow the nervous boy some privacy.

As they approached the end of the tour, Arthur's supervisor came out and tapped him on the shoulder. "That's fine, Arthur. I'll take it from here."

"Wh-what? I can finish! There's only one more gallery to go!" Why wouldn't she let him finish?

"I shouldn't have let you take this tour." Her accented voice was crisp and carried through the gallery. "You're not experienced enough to give tours to foreign guests. Go now."

Faced with a choice of losing his temper or leaving the room, he stalked away, fuming, hands clenched into fists. What a bloody bitch that Belarusian trout was. He'd been doing perfectly well! What was she talking about? Arthur walked around the corner to one of the long windows and rested his head against it, staring unseeing out at the museum grounds and grinding his teeth.

"Excuse me," he heard behind him, an Italian voice. He turned to see the blushing dark student standing there. "I – I wanted to thank you for the tour. I think – _I _think – y-you did a very good job."

"Thank you," Arthur replied in surprise, but the boy was already hurrying back to his classmates.

That was nice, though. That was the first time anyone had ever thanked him for a tour. He felt a little better now. Arthur decided to head to the cafeteria for some tea. He needed to calm down, and needed to stay away from his ruddy supervisor.

In the cafeteria he got tea and a scone and sat near the windows, daydreaming. His phone buzzed and he pulled it out. _Hey, bastard, long time no chat._

Arthur cheered up immediately, and typed a quick reply as he grinned down at his phone. _Nice to hear from you. Having a bad afternoon._

Romano's response was quick. He must be waiting at the computer. _How was the chemistry test? Bad?_

Arthur snorted. _Ah, no, I forgot all about that. No, that was fine. Work is bad. I gave a tour – a bloody good one – and my supervisor stopped me in the middle and embarrassed me in front of all the visitors._

While he waited for Romano's answer (which he hoped would be encouraging) he scanned the cafeteria and saw the Italian students trickling in. The teacher spotted him and walked over. "Thank you," she offered. "Your portion of the tour was quite good. It is easy to see that you enjoy your work."

Arthur smiled brightly at her. "It was a pleasure. Your students are attentive and well-behaved. Thank you."

She nodded and returned to her group. Arthur couldn't help himself – he searched for the dark student and spotted him at the cash register. The now-laughing boy and his companions passed from view and Arthur turned back to his tea, scone and phone.

In another minute his phone buzzed. _Sorry. Had to get something to eat. But the tour was good. ? You should be proud of yourself, then._

The blond laughed a little. Romano didn't really understand him very well. He tried to explain. _Pride in myself is never the issue. Sometimes I think my self-esteem is just too high. Nobody else thinks as highly of me as I do! Ha ha._

He was surprised at Romano's return message. _I do, you idiot. You're smart and funny and I think very highly of you. I'm really glad we became friends. I just wish you'd think highly of me._

That was surprising. "I do!" he said to the phone. _I do think very highly of you. I trust you and consider you a true friend. The only person I know who can keep up with me. Ha ha_. He hoped that wasn't too bloody autocratic.

The next response surprised him too. _Why haven't you ever asked to meet?_ _If that's really true and you do consider me a friend._

Arthur shook his head before typing. _It's different in person._ _Afraid you'd find me too much of an insufferable git. Or you might find me ugly._

No, he couldn't send that. It was insulting and it exposed too much of him. But as he nervously tried to hit the backspace key, his thumb hit the Send button by mistake. Oh, _bugger._ Arthur put his head down on the table and bit his lip, and prayed that Romano would overlook that stupid comment and just get on with the conversation.

When the phone buzzed he almost was afraid to read the message. _Stupid. How could I think that way about you? You're my friend! Just tell me this. Did you ever THINK about asking to meet?_

He finished his scone, staring out the window and thinking about this. _Of course I do, wanker! All the time. But I couldn't work up my nerve._

When he'd sent this and daydreamed a bit more, he looked up to see the dark boy, mug in one hand, phone in the other, standing near Arthur's chair with a blush on his face. "Excuse me. May I join you?"

"Er? Ah, f-f-feel free," he stammered. Bloody hell, now what? M-maybe this student wanted to – to flirt with him? Arthur didn't know what to do. He couldn't sit here with this beautiful student and send Romano texts; that would be incredibly rude.

The student sat and fiddled with his phone before putting it in his pocket and smiling weakly at Arthur, sipping from his coffee mug.

Arthur's phone buzzed. He slipped it onto his lap and surreptitiously read Romano's new message. _Nice to meet you._

"Eh?" What the bloody hell did that mean?

"Bastard, you still don't get it?" the red-faced student said with a soft smile and pleading eyes.

Arthur's eyes felt like they would bug out of his head. "R-R-Romano?" Not possible.

But of course it was possible. He felt the blood drain from his face and quickly covered it with his hands. Bollocks, what a frightening way to meet someone; he felt trapped! He almost wanted to scream, or faint.

Romano put a hand out to touch his arm lightly. "Arthur. Are you all right? Please don't hide from me?" His hand withdrew again.

Arthur shook his head. Blast, he felt like such an idiot!

But Romano's low, calm voice broke through his panic. "I – I'm sorry I sprung this on you this way. Sprang it? Whatever. I was afraid to tell you I'd be in London."

At that, Arthur did take his hands away, very slowly. Why would this laughing, handsome young man be afraid to meet anyone? He felt sick to his stomach, but his eyes met the sparkling amber ones of his companion and he began to calm down. He let his eyes take in every detail of his friend's face. Arthur could feel his heartbeat returning to normal. "You absolute _w-wanker._ You were going to come all this way and not even tell me?"

"No, dammit. We're here for a week. I would have worked up my nerve by Wednesday, I think." Romano snorted with a wry grin.

This idea was beginning to settle into Arthur's brain. "You _git_." The blond picked up his cold tea and sipped it to recover his equanimity, trying to smile. "It – it _is_ nice to meet you," he stumbled. "And – and thanks for what you said to me, about the tour." He pressed his lips together again. He was not going to lose it, here in the blasted cafeteria!

"You're welcome, bastard. Now listen. I've got the rest of the day free, so finish your fucking tea and take me on a better tour."

"What? Pfft. Screw the bloody tea." Arthur shoved his chair back, and the two friends ran out of the cafeteria, laughing together.


End file.
